


the three times

by isaacmclahey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: CW: alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Progressive, no time period, theyre drunk for a good percent of the fanfic so pls dont read if it makes u uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaacmclahey/pseuds/isaacmclahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The three times Stiles drunk-dialled Derek and the one time it was the other way around. (tumblr request: anonymous asked: "Could you write a Sterek fluff Fanfic ?" - i had way too much freedom with this)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	the three times

**Author's Note:**

> my writing tumblr is emilykatewrites - feel free to come and request anything/have a chat :)  
> (also i've just been told that most americans don't really "flick the kettle on" so i apologise for my britishness in reference to that phrase and im sure many others)  
> 

The three times Stiles drunk-dialled Derek and the one time it was the other way around.

\---

The faint light of dawn was just brushing the ceiling of the loft when Derek heard a buzz, pulling him out of his light sleep, a little dazed. After a few confused seconds, the werewolf realised it was his phone, and reached for it blindly:

**STILES CALLING**

If it was possible, Derek was even more confused, but he shook his head and answered it anyway.

"Stiles?"

There was a pause, followed by a strange crackling and some muffled giggling. Licking his lips, Derek wasn't sure whether this was a warning or a mistake.

He tried again.

"Erm, hello?"

"Ah," There was a strange clunk and suddenly Stiles was talking, "Sourwolf! Ma man, ma bro, ma dawg. Geddit, _dawg_? S'up wolfy?"

"Stiles, is something wrong?" Derek was blindly pulling on his shoes, convinced that someone had drugged the teen, looking for information or using him as bait, "Do you need me to find you? Do you know where you are?"

"Courssssssse, you sssssssilly man. I'm at my housssse. The crib, ma homedawwg, but I don't have a 'dawg', wanted one when I was ssseven, though."

There was another giggle, and a thud, followed by a faint "oopsie".

"Stiles?" The werewolf's tone was insistent, but he was starting to relax a little; if he was at home, not much could be wrong, right? "Is Scott with you?"

"Naaah. He left aaaaages ago. Said he was goin' homey. I'm all chillin' on ma lonesome. Wanna chilllllll with me?"

Realisation dawned.

"Are you _drunk_?"

This was followed by a series of panicked 'shush'es.

"Sssssh Ssssssourwolf! My dad doessssn't know. Nobody knowss. Well, Ssssscottie kinda knows. He knows wassup."

A few murmured 'wassup's followed, but by now, Derek was calm, pulling his shoes off again and leaning against the headboard, faintly amused by the whole situation.

"Why did you call me, Stiles? I didn't even know you had my number."

"Oh yesssss, I have your number. How called I could- wait, how called I- no, how. Could. I. _Call_. Yes - how could I call you without your number? Sssssilly Sourwolf."

There was a pause, in which neither of the two knew what to say.

"You're purty."

"Excuse me? Derek couldn't help but grin, shaking his head slightly in amusement and disbelief. Light had peeled back his eyelids enough for him to check the time, and, upon seeing it was ten to six in the morning, Derek sighed, knowing he could never get back to sleep once he'd awoken. It sucked even more that he didn't really have much to do during the day, and usually ended up just hanging around the loft or going for a run. His life was becoming scarily mundane.

A tinny, warbled tune reached him through the phone, dragging Derek back to the present.

Jesus, he's so far gone.

"Am I really?" He continued, but couldn't contain his laughter (not that Stiles really noticed).

"Yuh-huh. Real purrrrrrty. Your eyebrows are we-yaaard though."

"My eyebrows?"

"Yeaaaah. You're purty."

"Er, I- thank you?"

By now, his conversation had attracted the attention of Peter, who had awoken on the couch and tuned into the blabber Stiles was chatting on the other end of the phone.

"What the hell is that kid on?" The elder man grumbled, rubbing his face as if to smear off the tired expression that hovered there, "It's not even 6AM for Christ's sake."

"He's a little drunk."

"Great."

By now, both werewolves were wide awake, and Peter decided to flick the kettle on.

"Yo, Stiles, you still there?"

Faint snoring reached Derek's ear, and so he hung up, laughing in the hindsight of what had just happened; Stiles was never going to live this down.

***

"S-Scott? I'm having difficultiesss. Di-ffi-cult-eeeeez. Haha. Funny word. _Eeeeez_. Calllllll me bro. Dunno how I got-". Clunk. Beep.

Again?

Two minutes later, Stiles name showed up on the screen again, accompanied by a goofy photo Derek didn't remember taking.

**STILES CALLING**

Derek was currently wandering around the streets of Beacon Hills, checking for trouble and making sure the pack (that were now mostly Scott's) were still okay. The hole in Derek's heart couldn't quite be refilled after the loss of his pack, but he could try and help the others not fall into the same mess as him; he had resigned himself to that, at least.

Sighing, he decided he'd better answer it.

"Stiles?"

"ScoTTIE- Sss- you're not Ssscott."

"No, it's Derek."

"Oh, well would you lookie at that!" Stiles' voice sang in Derek's ear, so close that Derek winced in pain and had to move the phone a few centimetres away from his ear, so as not to break his sensitive werewolf eardrums.

"Are you alright?"

"Ffffine."

Both members of the phone call hesitated, as if they didn't know what to say next. Neither of them did.

"Well, guess you dialled the wrong number." Derek bit his lip, deciding to end the call whilst they were both still conscious. "Bye."

"Noooooo-!" Stiles cut in, audibly stumbling over something at the other end, which he then apologised to profusely, "No, no, nooo no, NO."

"No?" Derek couldn't help but smile.

"Youu wanna hear it in Sspanish? _No_ ¡"

"'Kay."

Silence followed, but strangely it wasn't as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. Then again, it might have been because Stiles appeared to be drunk out of his mind and could probably not even register awkward as an option at this point.

"I really like you."

The voice was quiet, but Derek heard every word. The heavy breathing and the slurred sentences emphasising just how far gone Stiles really was.

"Er, I like you too, Stiles."

"No, no, no, no. You don't get it."

Derek refused to believe what he thought he was hearing without explicit clarification.

"What don't I get, Stiles?"

Derek perched on a nearby fence, a little uncomfortable, but the fence was just unorthodox enough that it was possible to perch on without being impaled.

"I really like you. Like, _like you_ like you. And your- Sssscott?"

Confused, Derek instantly replied.

"No, this is Derek. Are you okay?"

Just then, through the phone came a straight, calm voice with no blurry words or childish giggles. Derek heard Scott conduct a minor investigation as to how much Stiles had drunk, how he'd gotten to where he was and who he was talking to on the phone.

After a few rounds of "Stiles, give me the phone" and "no, shan't", Derek suddenly found himself on the other end of the line to Scott McCall.

"Hey, Derek. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Is Stiles? Is he drunk again?"

"Yup. Happens every year. Normally, I- wait, again?"

"He, ah," The werewolf mentally smacked himself, "Called me a couple of months ago, after he'd had a few too many."

"Oh, I see." Scott's end of the line went quiet for a while, but eventually he sighed and said, "Well, I'd best get him home."

"Home? Where is he now?"

"We're pretty near the Police station. Maybe his subconscious was taking him somewhere he knew."

"Right."

There was hush, and then some faint girly squealing, which Derek could only presume came from Stiles.

"Well, bye." The other werewolf hung up without waiting for a response, and all Derek could do was stare at the screen, a little sadly, trying to ignore what Stiles had been about to say before, but couldn't.

**STILES 8:12  
CALL ENDED**

_'I really like you'._

Derek couldn't possibly contain his smile.

_I did get it, Stiles. I really like you too._

***

Four and a half hours on the road.

Five hours.

Five hours fifteen minutes.

Five hours twenty.

 _Cora better bloody appreciate this_. Derek thought to himself, angrily, as he watched the road with tired eyes. _Stupid birthdays. Stupid Mexico._

Cora had decided that she wanted to have a big birthday for her 18th, so all her friends were driving her up, out of South America and up into Mexico. Mexico seemed like a really dumb place to have an 18th, but Cora had spouted some mythology and archeology facts when the werewolf had asked about it, and Derek decided he didn't have the time to argue against her decision at the time. Maybe he should have reconsidered.

It was going to take him at least a full day's driving to get there.

At one point, he had almost agreed to let the Stilinski kid come along with him, but in the past two weeks some weird stuff had happened, and so he'd decided against it at the last minute.

_"Derek," Stiles breathed into his ear, his gasps almost pushing Derek over the edge as their sweating bodies collided, the feel of their hands on each other for the first time driving them crazy, "God, you feel so good- **Derek** -"_

A few late nights calls had led to some less-than-classy moments on both sides of the telephone line (and then later on in person), and Derek wasn't sure what it had all meant; from the way the kid phrased it, it was a casual thing, but Derek knew that he wanted more.

Derek just wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of relationship just yet.

(He'd been avoiding Stiles enough that he hoped that they wouldn't have to talk about it)

As if on cue, a text popped up on his phone, and Derek reached over to read it (a little reluctantly), keeping one eye on the deserted, open road.

**STILES 13:08  
** Dude, how's Mexico? Found the  
party with the hot girls in yet? 

If he was there in person, Derek would have punched Stiles on the arm and given him a pointed look that said that's my sister you're talking about, so shut your mouth, but he wasn't sure how to communicate that via text, or whether it wasn't quite what Stiles wanted him to say.

So he ignored it altogether.

Half an hour later, just as Derek had managed to get his mind off Stiles' warm, submissive body and his hungry lips, another text popped up.

**STILES 13:42  
** I'll take that as a cue that you're  
either driving/busy/feeling too  
awkward to text. That's fine :) 

If he hadn't included the smiley face, Derek would have felt so much better; he would have known that Stiles was mad at him for not replying, instead of just being okay with it, which was far too easy and confusing for the werewolf to deal with.

**STILES 13:45  
** Actually, no. It's not fine. Scott  
told me to put the smiley face on.  
Pull over and call me, dumbass. 

Derek kept his eyes firmly on the road, pretending that he hadn't seen the text, no matter how many follow up texts were sent, or how many missed calls were racking up. By the time he pulled over at a motel to call it a night - an impressive 13 hours later, he winced when he opened his lock screen.

**STILES  
** 14 NEW MESSAGES  
9 MISSED CALLS 

Scrolling through, all Derek managed to take in was that the last text just said "Fine.", and it was tugging on the pit of his stomach, even as he checked into the motel room and collapsed on the bed; his body was exhausted but his mind was whirring.

**DEREK 02:34  
Sorry.**

Not even a minute later, his phone began to ring, and he didn't even check the caller ID before he answered, opening his mouth to say something but not knowing quite what, so he decided to shut it again and let Stiles talk first.

"You'rre a dick."

Derek's stomach sank even further, and he almost choked on his next few words as he said them, pleading silently for them not to be true.

"Are you drunk?"

"A little." Stiles sighed down the phone, burning Derek's ears with its badly-concealed sadness, "How'ss Mexico?"

"I'm not in Mexico yet." Derek replied, quietly, trying to wrestle with the thoughts that were screaming at him that second, "I'm probably gonna get there late tomorrow."

"Well, bang a ffew hot girlss for me."

The hint of acid in his tone was enough to make Derek crumble.

"Night, Stiles."

"No- Der'k, don't you darrre hug up!" In his rush to get his words out, Stiles stumbled over the letters, not taking as much care as before to conceal his liquored state. "I- I don't wanna do thissss iff you're not good. I- I know thungsss happened, but I wan' more than jus' sex."

"Stiles," The werewolf hated how crisp his tone was next to Stiles' slurred voice, melting through Derek's layer of cold remarks like warm chocolate, "I can't have a proper relationship with you. Not- well, not yet. I'd need time."

"I'mm not gonna be yourr whorre, Hale."

The elder of the two felt his heart crack slightly, even though he knew he couldn't afford any more crooked organs. That's not how he felt about him - why couldn't he see that?

"You're not my whore, Stiles."

"You come overrrr for sex, an' you leave. Ssoundsss like a whore. Feelss like a whore."

"I-" Derek's voice cracked, and he had to take a moment to compose himself, unsure if Stiles had heard him or not, praying that he was too drunk to notice, "I can't be in a proper relationship with you yet, Stiles. After Kate, and then Jennifer, I-"

This time, the sudden cover-up cough was very noticeable, but Derek still tried to pass it off.

"I can't just go straight into it, Stiles." Silence followed, and Derek felt nausea rise in him like a wave of molten metal. "Stiles? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm still here."

More silence.

Derek could hear the couple next door yelling, the motel register clicking as the lady put in some details, a car going past; Stiles' heavy breathing on the other end of the phone was the only sound he registered.

"Stiles?" His voice so timid that Derek almost slapped himself; stop acting so weak, "Are- are we good?"

"I'm not going to be your whore." The teen's words were surprisingly clear, although they still had an edge of a slur that meant whilst he was drunk, he was concentrating extremely hard to get the right words out. "If I'm jus' gonna be sex to you, we're not good."

When Derek didn't reply, Stiles spoke for him.

"Guesss tha's your answer."

The drone of the **CALL ENDED** dug Derek's stomach into a pit and spat in it; the werewolf felt totally hollow and devoid of all emotion, which was something Derek wasn't quite familiar with. Normally, he used his anger to fuel everything he did, but without it he felt like nothing.

_'I'm not going to be your whore'_

Darkness enveloped him, and he allowed it to, stifling a cry as he felt himself losing his grasp on reality, but eventually giving in.

The next time he woke, it was almost 9AM and the sunlight was streaming through the curtains, accompanied by a sharp knocking that belonged to the lady who ran the motel, cheerfully reminding him that breakfast was finishing in twenty minutes and he'd 'better get a move on' if he wanted some.

Derek didn't have the strength or the motivation to call back, simply replaying the conversation from the previous night and feeling the sharp twist in his gut every time; guess that's your answer.

He already knew those would be the words that would haunt him.

***

By the time he got back to Beacon Hills a week later, he tried to dust himself off and move on, but it was hard. Driving past Stiles' house almost broke his resolve to never think about the teen again, but Derek just couldn't handle the stress. When he got back to the loft, he had to have a ten minute pep talk before he entered the door, preparing himself for Peter's insistent questions about Mexico.

However, to his surprise, the first words Peter spoke when he walked through the door were not sly questions about girls or queries of concern for Cora - in fact, his Uncle said something he never thought he'd say, even under pressure.

"I don't know what's going on between you two, but if you don't make it up with that bloody Stilinski kid within the next hour then I am going to rip your face off and nail it on the front frickin' porch."

After a long discussion and some serious inferences, Derek realised that Scott had gotten the truth out of Stiles, and had come looking for the werewolf in the loft, only to find Peter in his place, and so took his aggression out on him instead.

_Well, fuck._

Despite this, Derek refused to allow himself to even think about Stiles.

He threw himself into his workout exercises and his runs, forcing himself further every time, almost blacking out with its intensity, but somehow managing to keep his head above the water. Thanks to the crazy resilient workouts, he was falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow most nights, although that didn't stop the messed up dreams and awkward mornings.

It had been almost a month since Derek had seen Stiles, not including Mexico, when he received a text from Scott (surprisingly, the first one).

**SCOTT 9:18AM (GROUP MESSAGE: ALL)  
** Pack meet tonight. Derek's, 8pm.  
It's important. 

It was the most logical and common place to hold the meeting, but Derek still cursed the True Alpha for choosing the loft for a rendez-vous. Although it did seem a little un-Scott-like to text everyone about it without quickly checking with Derek first. Guess he was still pissed about Stiles.

_God damn it. Can't wait. Can't fucking wait._

-

It was ten to eight, and no-one had arrived yet.

Even thought it was a little too early to suspect anything, Derek knew something was wrong.

By now, Scott and Stiles would be bickering in the parking lot on the other side of the road and taking their sweet time coming over because they knew they were early. Lydia and Allison normally turned up a few minutes before the time, Kira in tow, the two brunettes nodding along and trying to understand the education they were receiving from the redhead, be it hair care or politics. Isaac normally turned up a little later (no one liked to ask why he was always late, as they weren't sure if they were ready for the answer), and the elder members of the crew usually boycotted the meeting and got any important info from their children later on, if it was desperate.

Peter had said he'd needed to go grab something from the grocery store half an hour beforehand, but had promised to be back in time.

_So where is everyone?_

Derek was one step short of calling around, as it was almost five past eight, when he heard a heartbeat on the stairs and running up the loft, stuttering madly as it wasn't used to running up that many stairs in one go, although the person didn't seem to mind at all.

"Only three-point-five minutes late!"

This was followed by a victorious yelp as the door at the front of the loft slid open, and Stiles' elated grim frozen on his features as he realised who was stood on the other side; more specifically, someone who was stood on the other side of the door, alone.

"Where's Scott?" He asked immediately, not taking a step back but not taking one forward either, clearly showing his thoughts on the situation.

"I don't know," Derek replied, trying hard not to sharpen any of his words, because, despite the stupid situation, he didn't really want Stiles to leave, "Clearly not here, is he?"

Silence.

"Right. They set us up." This was followed by a sigh, and Derek's heart sank, knowing what was coming, "I'd better go, then."

Instantly, Derek opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again, nodding, not wanting to sound like an idiot if Stiles wanted to leave. He folded his arms and turned to walk back to the table at the other side of the room, waiting for the screech and scrape of the door closing and the pitter-patter of Stiles' feet on the stairs.

It didn't happen.

When he reached the table, Stiles was a few metres behind him, catching up and taking a seat on the other side whilst Derek shut his mouth, which had fallen open from shock.

"If they want us to stop being idiots, we should at least try." Stiles answered Derek's raised eyebrows with his sort of an explanation, but then he slumped forward slightly on he table, his chin resting on his hands. "What should we talk about, though? We both know why it's not working. Can't see what more we can do."

Derek remained silent; he wasn't very good with words, and he didn't dare use them abundantly in what could be the most important conversation he had in a long time.

"Cards on the table," Stiles continued, when he realised that Derek wasn't going to offer any suggestions, "You want a fuckbuddy, I want a relationship. Is that correct?"

Derek couldn't help but shake his head, words pouring out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Stiles, that's not what I want and you know it. I- it's just with the recent history of people I've, erm, been with, I just need to go slowly."

"And by 'slowly', you mean 'not at all', right." Stiles sunk into his chin-rest, not meeting Derek's eye, "I just don't understand why you would start something if you knew it wasn't going to go anywhere."

"I do want it to go somewhere. Eventually." Derek couldn't understand what Stiles didn't get about that; he just needed some time to adjust to the whole aspect of a relationship. If he was honest with himself, he barely knew what a normal relationship consisted of. "Just... Not yet."

"Well, there's our answer. You want to wait, and I don't. Adios."

As Stiles stood up abruptly, ending the conversation a lot sooner than he thought he would, the werewolf couldn't help but notice the pain in his eyes that he so desperately tried to conceal, and it wrenched in his gut.

"Stiles, wait-" Derek reached out towards Stiles, stepping so close that he could scent the pain on the teenager like a wave of sour air, "I- I don't want us to end like this."

"I'm not Kate, Derek." Stiles snapped, the cruel words whipping off his tongue and smacking Derek in the face at full force, dragging him into the dirt and kicking him whilst he was down, "Stop treating me like it."

_-no no no no no no no no-_

That wasn't how this was meant to go, even in Derek's head. Even in the worst case scenario, he didn't let go of the one person in his life he felt he could trust, and he didn't watch him walk away with a hole instead of a heart.

 _Fuck this,_ he suddenly thought, _Fuck it all._

It could have been ten seconds after Stiles left, it could have been ten minutes, but Derek was putting on his jacket and stomping down the stairs of the apartment, ignoring Peter's questions from where he'd been waiting at the bottom of the stairs for over an hour. Within a minute, he was at the local store, stocking up on alcohol - as much as he could carry. By the time he'd checked it through, it was almost ten pm, and so he decided to stay on the greenery in the centre of the town, where he couldn't do much except sit there and wallow in self pity.

It had taken his whole life to perfect the amount of intoxication that werewolves could handle, but in that single night, Derek threw the entire system out the window. Whilst a werewolf's healing process would slow intoxication down to a certain extent, it wouldn't immunise the person completely (unfortunately for Derek).

At three am, almost five hours later, the emotionally-drained, shell of a man finally accepted that he had run out of cheap beer, and decided to try and get back to the apartment.

He did not take into consideration how physically challenging it would be to walk back.

Nineteen steps later, he stopped, trying to catch the spinning stars around his head and failing, eventually slumping down on the ground and pulling out his phone to get Peter to come and lead him back home. No doubt, he would find it hilarious.

However, as Derek sloppily scrolled through his phone contacts, his finger rested above " **STILES** ", his heart telling him yes yes yes and his brain too pumped up on alcohol to know what was going on. He clicked ' **CALL** '.

"Hey, this is Stiles. Much to your disappointment, I'm not here right now, so leave me a message!"

This was followed by a strange "boop" sort of noise that caused Derek to giggle for almost half a minute, mimicking the 'boops' in his own deep voice.

"Ssstiles!" He managed, after a reasonable time spent concentrating his energy on the phone call, resting his chin in his hand, elbow on his knee, and smiling contently, "I knoww we're not-ssso good. You ssssaid. I remember."

There was a pause, and then Derek remembered that Stiles wasn't going to talk back to him, as he had reached his answering machine, and wasn't a live call.

"I wass gonna call Peterrr but then yyou! Becaussse I don't think you're Kate, Ssstiles, that wass mean to sssay. I lllike you. Lotss and lotss. Yourr smile is so happy, and yourr little molesss are sso- I can't eeven, you just- you make me sso happy, and a bit mad too becausse you're too clever and yyou talk back to the alpha, but I lovve you lotss Stiles and I dun' wanna lose yyou."

Derek sighed heavily, and then shuffled away from the curb and back onto the grass, rolling so that he was lying down and facing the sky, the distant smile not leaving his face.

"The sstarrs are pretty tonight, Sstiles. I wissh you could seee them."

Suddenly, his tone turned very serious, his brain trying to reign in the sloppy words he was letting out and curb the slurring.

"Sstiles, there are sstars up there that aren't sshining as brightly as all the other sstars, but I still notice them. You think you don't sshine as brightly as Scott, and mayybe in some ways you don't, but I don't care. I still notice the ssmaller sstars becausse they sshine every day, with no recognition, becausse of the big stars. I do not care what you do, I will alwayss notice you, no matter how brightly you ssshine."

By now, Derek was almost whispering, trying to keep this information very quiet, so that if Stiles heard him then he may not hear him very loudly, and it might be okay.

"Derek knows Sstiles issn't Kate. Sstiles is-so much more than Kate. Derek doesn't want to fuck it up with Sstiles becausse he has-so much more to lose."

Almost a minute passed before Derek realised that he had stopped talking, and he should probably end the call, and so he did, sighing deeply when the ' **CALL ENDED** ' tone hit his ear and settling down into the grassy bank, watching the stars do their duty through the haze of light pollution that his eyes were somehow able to ignore.

A few minutes later - or so he thought - he heard his ringtone go off again, and was delighted to see that it was Stiles, although it didn't really surprise him.

"Sstiles!" The werewolf couldn't help but giggle a little, knowing that the teenager could properly hear him now. "Where arrre you?"

"The more important question is, where are you?"

"I am somewhere very far away from you." Derek replied, a little smartly, "And that needs to be fixed. I will be at your house ah-very ah-soon."

However, when he tried to get up, he simply stumbled and fell back onto the grass, unable to stop grinning at the sound of Stiles' voice.

"-Look, you stay right there, you hear me? I'll find you."

Before Derek knew it, the call had ended and the silence had overtaken him again, overwhelmed by the sudden quiet after the chocolatey tones of Stiles, soothing his drunken state into a semi-understandable mess.

It wasn't long after that moment that Stiles found him.

-

"C'mon Derek, c'mon-" Stiles muttered to himself desperately as he heaved the steering wheel around, almost crashing the jeep when he noticed someone lying on the grass on the edge of the centre greenery of the town.

"Derek?" He called through the window of the badly-parked car, almost throwing himself out of the car, so relieved at the prospect of having found him that he didn't care who he woke up around the neighbourhood. The sky was at it's darkest point, and Stiles knew that soon it would be morning; it was breaking four am.

"Sstiles?" The slur fell out of Derek's mouth before he could stop it, the wolf reaching up at the teen with his hands in an attempt to get himself stood upright. It took longer to safely stand on two feet than either of them liked to admit. "Wherre we goin'?"

"My place. I think handing you back to Peter at four AM might just tip him over the edge. Whilst I appreciate the 'tag, you're it, take the drunkard' system, I'd rather not be pickled in a jar on your shelf by this time tomorrow."

Derek considered this option for a moment,

"Peter's evil."

"No need to remind me, Sourwolf."

Once Derek had managed to get into the car (after a few bumps to the head), it barely took any time at all to reach Stiles' house. The Sheriff had stayed overnight at the station because of a case they had going on there having a few new leads, and he didn't want to miss anything. Luckily for the pair entering the house at four in the morning, it meant they didn't have to be that quiet.

"I dunno if you're actually gonna sleep for long, but here's a pillow, and there's probably a blanket in that cupboard over there." Stiles hesitated, but not for long, deciding to power on through with what he was going to say, "Since you're imposing on me, I am going to have to request that you sleep on the floor."

Derek stumbled into his position on the cold, hard ground just as the sun began to brush against the sky with a trembling paintbrush, edging its brightness into the darkness with courage, uncertainty and not a lot else. It made Derek feel a little warmer inside.

"Sourwolf?"

Derek's head had been on the pillow barely a minute before the question was asked, and the werewolf lifted his head from the comfortable square to meet Stiles' eye.

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean what you said in the voicemail? From earlier?"

"Every word." Derek nodded with a childish authority, raising his eyebrows to try and add sincerity to his tone but ending up making it worse. However, despite the juvenile air about the Alpha on his floor, Stiles smiled, knowing that Derek was telling the truth, even without supernatural werewolf powers.

"Y'know, you can stay in the bed if you want." He offered a moment later, a little shyly, but rushed to defend himself, "I don't mean sex- just to clarify. Just sleeping. You don't have to, but you can. If you want."

Only silence answered him, but Stiles refused to let the salt stinging his eyes become noticeable, and so he turned over quickly so that he was facing the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to slow his nervous heartbeat, so loud at that moment that he knew Derek could hear it.

But then there was a weight on the mattress behind him, and Stiles' heart stuttered with the hope that maybe, just maybe-

"Hey." Derek murmured, nervously, shuffling in closer to Stiles, but trying to show that he knew where the boundaries are, keeping his hands to himself and his body on his side of the bed. His cheeks were a little pink, even in the weak light of sunrise.

"Hey." Stiles twisted his neck to look up at Derek, speaking softly and letting his smile blossom on his face, pulling Derek's arms around his waist, encouraging the werewolf to relax. By getting into the bed, Derek had knowingly committed to try this relationship, no matter how hard it got. Stiles was simultaneously terrified and excited, "Idiot."

"Moron."

"Love you."

There was a pause and a deep breath, and - even in his drunken state - Derek knew exactly what he was saying, letting the words roll around his mouth before he said them, relishing in their delicate taste.

They were going to try, properly, to make this work. He couldn't wait.

"Love you too."


End file.
